


Beautiful Veins

by literallymelchior



Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: M/M, i almost stared crying when i wrote this, im so sorry, oh no, this is so sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 10:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15483873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literallymelchior/pseuds/literallymelchior
Summary: TRIGGER WARNING - SELF-HARM INDICATION, MENTIONS OF PAST ABUSEBut he always went back to the same places where they would meet—in the alleyways and the little bookstores, pouring their hearts out over a cup of coffee and smiling at each other. It was like there was a ghost of his former life standing next to him.Sometimes, he still could hear Hanschen’s voice lilting across the chambers of his mind, his laughter haunting Ernst’s dreams.





	Beautiful Veins

 

_ You still cross my mind from time to time. And I mostly smile _ _   
_ _ Still so set on finding out where we went wrong and why _ __   
  


Ernst didn’t know what went wrong with them.

When Hanschen left, it was like a bullet had tore through his heart and simply settled there, letting him be comfortable with all he had been through, for once in his life.

At first, there were letters. They had written to each other at every chance they could get, remembering all the love that they had shared and been a part of since they were fourteen, since they were young and vicarious, full of all the things they were so afraid to say to each other.

Hanschen didn’t say that he loved Ernst until they were sixteen, when it was safe to say those words to a boy without being stared at, or ridiculed, or called names. They weren’t safe until they were in the dark corners of their rooms or in the alleyway behind the theatre, whispering sweet nothings to each other until all they could hear was the terrified beating of their own hearts. 

But then, eventually, Ernst didn’t get letters. There was nothing to tell him if Hanschen was okay, or even alive. 

But what scared him the most Hanschen just wanted to stop talking to him. That he would be left alone, scared of all the things that had dominated his life ever since Hanschen had left.

_ So I retrace our every step with an unsure pen _ _   
_ _ Trying to figure out what my head thinks _ _   
_ _ But my head just ain't what it used to be _ _   
_ _ And then again _ _   
_ __ What's the point anyway?

Hanschen stopped sending letters. 

He didn’t know what else to say to Ernst. There was nothing else he could say to possibly sum up all he wanted to say. And all that he didn’t.

Hanschen was constantly trying to start a letter, to put his thoughts on the pen and to  _ send it,  _ to let himself say that he missed the love he gave him and all the memories that they had shared. His mind was spiraling. 

When he had gotten on that train, he didn’t look back at Ernst. He didn’t want to see his face crumbling, looking at his hands where Hanschen once was. 

He never stopped thinking about him.

_ You held my hand, but you were too afraid to speak _ _   
_ _ You were too afraid to speak and I could never understand _ _   
_ _ I remember when you leaned in quick to kiss me, and I swear _ _   
_ __ That not a single force on earth could stop the trembling of my hand

Ernst never liked kissing Hanschen in public.

There were shadows of his father in every corner of his mind, wanting to hurt him and make him feel insignificant—but there was nothing there.

He was still paranoid, even though Hanschen was gone. 

Ernst was eighteen. He had already graduated, but didn’t even bother applying for anything. What was the point? He knew that he was going to be stuck in the same place for the rest of his life, wandering aimlessly around the city, looking for some kind of closure. 

But he always went back to the same places where they would meet—in the alleyways and the little bookstores, pouring their hearts out over a cup of coffee and smiling at each other. It was like there was a ghost of his former life standing next to him.

Sometimes, he still could hear Hanschen’s voice lilting across the chambers of his mind, his laughter haunting Ernst’s dreams.

_ It must be true what people say, that only time can heal the pain _ _   
_ _ And every single day I feel it fade away, but _ _   
_ _ I still remember how the distance tricked us _ _   
_ _ And lead us helpless by the wrist into a pit to be devoured _ __   


There were always scars.

Scars, inside and out. They still hurt Ernst sometimes, when his skin rubbed against his clothes, or when the skin came apart, bleeding on his coat, unnoticeable until his blood blossomed onto the fabric. 

It was a terrifying thought to Ernst, to rip all his stitches apart from his lip and from his stomach and just watch his skin fall apart, leaving nothing but bones and the dark thing that curled around his heart. The missing piece of him.

When his father had beat him and thrown him out into the street, he went to Hanschen first. They held each other until Ernst had stopped crying and shaking, and there was nothing left but that empty feeling. 

But there was love too. 

He still sent Hanschen letters. Empty letters, letters that begged to see his face again. To hold him just like he once had.

There was nothing else he wanted.

 

**Author's Note:**

> words in italic - lyrics from andria by la dispute
> 
> this is one of the saddest things i’ve ever written 
> 
> i’m so sorry


End file.
